


Faultless

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Advent Fics 2014 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, autocorrect, iPhones, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco hates the iPhone Harry got him for Christmas, but he uses it because Harry got it for him. And sometimes, it really is worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faultless

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an Advent fic for mab, who gave me this prompt: _Harry buys himself and Draco iPhones for Christmas. Draco has trouble with autocorrect perverting his words... But one autocorrected text to Harry sells him on the idea because he reaps a great reward afterwards._

“Stupid…bloody…phone!”  
  
Admittedly, trying to text and ride his broom at the same time, while fleeing across the sky from the storm that was brewing behind him, might not be the smartest idea ever, and not the phone’s fault. But Harry had told him that Muggles could text and drive their huge vehicles at the same time, even if it wasn’t the smartest idea ever. Draco refused to fail at something a Muggle could do.  
  
Besides, he wanted to tell Harry that he had escaped the harpies that had been on his trail earlier.  
  
“Going  _home_ ,” he muttered, as he typed as hard as he could, given his numbed hands and the clouds of breath trailing up in front of him that further obscured the small screen. At least he didn’t wear those ugly glasses Harry was still so attached to and have yet another barrier in front of his eyes. “H…O…” Then his thumb slipped and hit the G, and the phone helpfully corrected it to  _high_  and sent the text. “ _Stupid_ fucking phone!”  
  
Now Harry would think he was circling at a great height while winds tried to whip him off his broom. Draco scowled and dived down a little, then tried to steady the phone against the broom’s bristles again. He was riding backwards to have a surface to lean it on, which probably also affected his balance. Not that he would admit this to Harry, Mr.-I’m-the-Youngest-Seeker-in-a-Century.  
  
Harry’s text came through before Draco could send another one.  _Come down! Cold out._  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. He should know better than Harry that it was cold, when he was soaring through that chill air and Harry was probably sitting in front of a fire typing away like a Muggleborn.  
  
He shook his head and focused on composing his reply. “Cold—damnit, not  _colt_ ,” he muttered. Now Harry was going to think he was drunk and rambling about Abraxans, just because he had talked once before about perhaps getting one.  
  
Again Harry sent an expert text before Draco managed to get to the end of the simple message he’d chosen.  _Come on, Draco. You don’t have to use the phone if you don’t want to._ A break, and another text at dizzying speed.  _Just come home. I’m worried._  
  
Draco sighed, prepared to admit Harry was right and abandon the phone.   
  
But not without one more attempt to get it right.  
  
“I don’t fault you,” he said aloud as he typed into the phone, watching with some satisfaction as the right letters appeared. It was a miracle. Of course, a Malfoy’s will and determination could overcome any merely mortal Muggle device. He glanced at the “don’t,” which the phone was always trying to tell him was wrong, and sent it.  
  
Only to realize a moment later that what he’d sent was, “I don’t fuck you.”  
  
Draco groaned and would have banged his head on the broom bristles if they made a satisfying surface to bang on, in  _any_ way. Then he realized that was sending the broom into a literal tailspin, and pulled back up, and swung around, his hand firmly on the phone.  
  
It vibrated and glowed a second later. Draco wasn’t going to look at it. Harry was either laughing his arse off or trying to figure out what was wrong with Draco, to be talking about fucking when he was trying to fly through a snowstorm.  
  
Draco flew down, and down, and then saw the lights of home glowing through the cold a second later. He sighed in relief. At least he knew that he had got there, and however embarrassing the next hour of his life proved to be, he would have his hands warmed in front of a fire, his belly full of hot chocolate, and his ears free of numbness.  
  
And he was  _never_  going to accept a commission to gather harpy eggs for Potions ingredients again.  
  
*  
  
“What do you  _mean_ , you don’t fuck me?” Harry asked, the instant Draco walked in the door.  
  
 _Of course, the interrogation begins now,_ Draco thought, and shook his head as he walked towards the bathroom. “Save that thought,” he called, and shut the door firmly behind him.  
  
Hot water was bliss. So was a tub and shower that Harry had insisted on fitting out with Muggle tile, after the old one they used to have cracked and let a bunch of water out onto the floor. Draco filled his hair with shampoo and his hands with soap and his skin with warmth, and spent more time than strictly necessary almost lounging against the wall of the shower while the bliss cascaded over him.  
  
Harry knocked.  
  
“You can wait a bloody minute!” Draco yelled through the door, his spell snapped.  
  
“I want to know what the fuck you mean!” Harry bellowed back. “You’ve never expressed any dissatisfaction with our sex life before!”  
  
Draco knocked his head on the wall, but gently, because the impulse to scold himself had vanished once he was off the bloody broom. Then he shook his hair free of the shampoo and stepped out onto the soft towel that Kreacher had already laid down, dismissing the thought of relaxing in here until he was ready to talk and be ridiculed. It seemed Harry had taken this mistake a lot more seriously than Draco had thought he had.  
  
“I never said that I was dissatisfied with our sex life,” he explained, and wrapped a towel around his waist before he opened the door. “That was the phone. I was trying to text you ‘I don’t fault you,’ and my thumb slipped and the phone corrected ‘fault’ to ‘fuck.’”  
  
Harry, revealed unfairly warm-looking and swathed in one of the jumpers that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him, stared at him unblinking for a bit. Then he said, “No one spells that badly.”  
  
“I don’t spell that badly, your phone  _makes_ me spell that badly,” Draco retorted, on the defensive immediately. If Harry was going to stupidly misinterpret everything, Draco would show him that Draco could do the same thing. “Listen. I meant to type one word, and it put another in its place. You know it does that.”  
  
“You’re trying to hide something from me.” Harry folded his arms and looked both stupidly tragic and mouthwatering. Draco rolled his eyes and turned away to dry his hair so he wouldn’t give in to temptation. “You confessed it by accident, and now you’re hiding. What did you want to tell me?”  
  
Draco closed his eyes. “You’re enough to try the patience of a Crup,” he said. “Listen. I already told you what happened.”  
  
“You gave me a secret, and you’re trying to take it back.” Draco felt Harry edging closer to him. “What did you mean?”  
  
Draco said nothing this time. There was a limit to the stupid games he was ready to play.   
  
“What did you  _mean_?” Harry asked, and his hand was firm and pressing on Draco’s back.  
  
“A spelling mistake,” said Draco, and kicked backwards so that Harry had to dodge or get a hard foot in the shin. “Let it go.”  
  
“I can’t, not when you’re so upset about it,” Harry said, and this time, he had to dodge a spell from the wand Draco had snatched up. Not that it would have hurt him badly, just made him slip on the slick floor and hit his head on the edge of the counter, but it was the principle of the thing. Draco snarled at him and laid the wand down.  
  
“Maybe it’s a good thing that I know what a huge business you can make out of a  _mistake_ ,” he said, and rolled his eyes at Harry. “When I make another one, I’ll know how to deal with the drama.”  
  
Harry folded his arms as though he was cold. “It’s a coincidence you spelled a word wrong,” he said. “A word that just happened to refer to what we do in the bedroom.”  
  
He sounded calmer than he had. Draco still cast a Drying Charm on himself so he could get out of the bathroom faster. He would have to lounge on the couch in front of the fire to enjoy himself. “Be thankful that I didn’t type ‘cold’ and have it turn into ‘cock.’ Would you have thought I was seeing someone else?”  
  
Harry lifted his head doggedly. “I know you’re not that type of bloke. But you might be the type to complain because I’ve never bottomed.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it, feeling as though a lot of steam had just escaped him.  
  
Oh.  _Oh_. Harry had taken it  _that_ way. And it was true that he had never bottomed. He had never seemed interested, and what they had was sometimes fragile enough—as witness this row—that Draco had never pressed the issue. He didn’t have any complaints, either way. Harry was a tender lover, a protective one, an unexpectedly spontaneous one who took pleasure in Draco’s pleasure and making him laugh with delight. Draco thought he could put up with a lot more than the lack of a particular sexual act for the sake of all that.  
  
But now Harry stared at him with a determined, hangdog expression, and Draco couldn’t help saying, “It really was a mistake. But now that you mention it…”  
  
Harry’s face cleared a little. “I hadn’t thought of it, but now that I know you, and I know you aren’t going to make fun of me for wanting to bottom, I’d like to,” he said, and reached out a hand and tugged at Draco’s.  
  
Draco blinked. “Someone made fun of you?” He only knew about Weasley’s sister and Chang and one Hufflepuff bloke, that Harry had dated before him. As far as he knew, bottoming wouldn’t have come up in the first two.  
  
“Zacharias.” Harry offered him a cross between a grimace and a smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking, taking him to bed.”  
  
Draco gave him a true smile and stepped up beside him to loop his arms around Harry’s waist. “You were suffering a crisis of taste. You were practicing for me.”  
  
“Zacharias is more heavyset than you are,” Harry began seriously. “And snotty even in private. And—”  
  
“And you’re overly dramatic,” Draco said softly near his ear. “It was a  _joke_.” He touched Harry’s shoulder, and even though he was the one closer to naked, Harry was the one who shivered, his eyes bright. “Now. Are we going to do this?”  
  
“We are,” said Harry, and kissed him, and led him towards the bedroom with speculative, shy glances over his shoulder that Draco liked. Partially because he liked everything about Harry, but also because, for the first time, Harry seemed to be considering the size of his cock in a new way. He had sucked Draco off before, of course, but this would be different.  
  
“I’ll be so gentle,” Draco breathed. “You won’t know what  _hit_ you.”  
  
Harry walked backwards specifically to laugh at him without sound. “Now  _that_ was unfortunate wording.”  
  
*  
  
In the bedroom, some of Harry’s nervousness returned, which wasn’t unusual. He lay back on the bed and spread his legs as though Draco was going to take him right there, but Draco sat down beside him and unwound his towel slowly enough that Harry finally got it and leaned up to join in the kissing and foreplay they always did.  
  
The only thing really different was that when Harry’s hands began wandering towards Draco’s arse, Draco reciprocated, sliding his fingers lightly over Harry’s entrance, still under his pants. Harry flushed, but he didn’t look embarrassed. Or at least not any more embarrassed than he had the first time they’d ever been lovers, or tried something new with each other.  
  
He shed his clothes with eager haste, and then reached out and curled his fingers around Draco. “It’ll fit,” he said.  
  
No one could have mistaken the tone of his voice, and Draco reached down and squeezed his hand over Harry’s. That was stupid of him; he had to rise almost on his toes to avoid coming. “It will,” he said. “Yours fits in me.”  
  
“But I think you’re bigger.”  
  
 _Oh, the things I could have_ done  _with that, in a world where we stayed enemies,_ Draco thought, almost mourning the lost opportunity, and kissed Harry until Harry’s mouth was melting and sloppy against his. Then he slid Harry to the bed, and conjured lube, and reached out and began to run his hand along Harry’s spine.  
  
Harry snorted. “You’re going to lube my  _back?_  Exactly what are you planning on doing with me, you pervert?”  
  
“No, the pervert would be the phone,” said Draco, and muffled his grin against Harry’s hair. “I’m getting you used to the feel of the lube.”  
  
“I know what it feels like,” Harry said, and Draco knew the precise angle to which his eyes rolled even though he couldn’t see them.  
  
“Only on your cock,” Draco said. “Now it can be different places.”  
  
Harry caught his breath and shivered. Draco blinked. “You find that hot?” he asked. He supposed that everyone had to have their own quirks, but he thought he knew most of Harry’s, including the tendency to argue with him about everything.  
  
From the way Harry glanced back at him, glassy-eyed and shallow-breathing, this was something that subdued his tendency to argue. Well, Draco reckoned, there had to be  _something_. “You have no idea how much,” Harry muttered, and he reached over his shoulder and pulled Draco close, kissing him close-mouthed, but with enough strength to make Draco’s head spin.  
  
Eventually, Draco pulled himself back together, and shook his head a little, smiling. “I still won’t fuck you if you keep distracting me.”  
  
“Then do it.” Harry rolled back over and spread his legs, clasping his hands beneath his knees as if to pull the skin taut.  
  
“You haven’t bottomed often. I thought it would be easier on your hands and knees—”  
  
“I’ve done it before, though,” Harry interrupted. “And I want to see your face. And I want you to put a pillow under my arse so I don’t get dragged all over the bed. And I want you to get on with it.”  
  
Draco laughed. Any fears he’d had that Harry might be going along with this only because he’d convinced himself Draco wanted it dissipated. He eased the requested pillow into place and lifted Harry’s legs gently. “I’m still going to use a lot of lube and go slowly,” he warned Harry.  
  
“That’s all right. I want to watch you.”  
  
Harry peered at Draco’s fingers so closely as he prepared the lube that Draco blushed. But it was just the regular process, Draco smoothing lube up and down his cock, and using more than he needed to on Harry’s arse, and easing his fingers inside the way Harry did with him. Maybe Harry hadn’t seen it from this angle, though, and that explained his fascination.  
  
Or maybe he was just fascinated because it was Draco.   
  
Draco decided he would go with that explanation, at least in his head, because it flattered him all the more.   
  
Go as slowly as he might, though, he was finally in place and sliding himself into Harry. He had to look away and clench his eyes shut several times, because the sensations that sleeted through him were so intense that trying to keep his eyes open was like trying to look into the sun.  
  
When he glanced back, he saw that Harry had apparently kept his own eyes open all the time, but he’d bitten his bottom lip into a bloody mess to do it. Draco made a disapproving noise and rocked back on his haunches, his legs twitching with the impulse to thrust.  
  
“I didn’t—mean for you to hurt yourself,” he whispered.  
  
Harry met his gaze, eyes so blank that for a moment, Draco thought he’d vanished in pain. Then he gave a smile, and squeezed down around Draco.  
  
Draco lurched forwards with a shout, and after that, being as gentle as he thought he should be was never going to happen. He did still give Harry a pleasant experience instead of a painful one, he hoped, but given that Harry squeezed him again every time he slowed down, he only had a few uninterrupted moments to think about it.  
  
It felt so good to let go, to be inside as he had been wrapped around Harry so many times, and angle Harry as he had been angled. Too much to hope that Harry’s prostate was in exactly the same place as Draco’s own, but he did manage to make Harry’s eyes shine and his gasps resound more than once, which was nice.  
  
Then Harry reached down and took his own cock roughly in hand, and Draco swatted his wrist. He had to unclench one hand from Harry’s hips, reach out, turn his palm until it was in position, and then rub up and down, and every motion seemed like a separate command to his muscles, as though he was one of those Muggle automatons that Granger had shown him pictures of. But he managed it.  
  
Harry’s eyes shone. His cheeks shone. His chest shone with pink, and then he made Draco’s hand and his own chest shiny, too.  
  
Draco finally gave in a moment later, when he was sure that he couldn’t make Harry’s pleasure last any longer, and his own was giving way to pain. He jerked wildly, gripped Harry’s hips until he noticed the marks he was leaving, and then managed to lift his hands and flop down. His head twitched with mechanical motions. His voice wouldn’t work.  
  
It didn’t matter. Harry put his hand on Draco’s hair and said contentedly, “Wow.”  
  
 _Me, too,_ Draco thought, and rolled to what he thought was the left. It turned out to be the right, and he fell heavily onto the bed, hitting his nose on the mattress. Harry laughed and wriggled around, pulling Draco out and casting a few soft Cleaning Charms. Draco stretched languidly and murmured, when he got his voice back, “I trust that was what you wanted?”  
  
“And what you did.” Harry’s hands tightened on Draco the way he’d clamped his inner muscles down.  
  
Draco nodded. “I enjoyed it.” He decided that he would give up trying to convince Harry it had been a mistake, what he typed into the phone, and not a dissatisfaction. Now they both had desires fulfilled, and what did it matter if the phone had been impossible to use?  
  
Harry curled up beside him and closed his eyes. Draco took a moment to study him in the light of the fire.  
  
No, he and Harry weren’t a perfect fit. They would probably have another argument tomorrow. In fact, Draco was sure of it. Harry wanted him to spend some time with the Weasleys, naively believing they would just get along if they only tried, and Draco saw no point in causing them both pain, and a lot in sparing himself, Weasley, and Granger some.  
  
But he hadn’t come to the end of the surprises, either. And that made it more than compensation enough.  
  
Draco  _did_ make sure that both of their phones were turned off and a good distance from the bed before he went to sleep, though. Muggle devices could be useful in more than one way, but that didn’t include waking him up.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
